


hyperspace blue

by isthaso7



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bounty hunter Atton Rand, F/M, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-03-16 08:18:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13632381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthaso7/pseuds/isthaso7
Summary: While working as a smuggler, Atton Rand met a taciturn, steady mechanic who happened to work a lot of night shifts, to be immune to his jokes and constantly drink caffa.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing in English and I've struggled with this piece a lot. I hope you find it a little bit entertaining. Feel free to comment about mistakes and if you want to become a beta or co-write it - message me.  
> My Exile's name is Kano Noor, idk, I thought it was a nice sounding name. But it was before she became Meetra, so I just continued to call her Kano out of habit.

Atton Rand woke up and sat up in his small, but cozy bed. His bedroom was filled with blue and pink glow from vibrant street signs and giant screens with giant faces on them. He needed to get ready; there was an another work waiting for him tonight. After a brisk shower and a scarce midnight breakfast he started to put his clothes on. He grabbed his old blaster with holster from the desk and secured it to his belt. At last, he put on his ribbed jacket and left his rarely visited lair.

You know that feeling when your vessel is entering hyperspace? The sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach, the feeling of acceleration that pushes you back into the seat. For Atton Rand, this feeling was like coming home, something that meant comfort and safety. You are in the alternative reality made of white and blue lines, and outside observers can mistake your freighter for an innocent and beautiful comet. He knew it was weak consolation and ships still could explode while traveling at lightspeed, but he still relished the idea.

“I know a place where we can change vessel’s ID. The owner is an old, partially blind Sullustan, but he’s the best you can find. ” Rand’s partner in crime was a reasonable guy he met while trying to make a living in the refugee sector of Nar Shadaa. Atton never really liked the Serroco gang, mostly because they were easy to jump to conclusions, conclusions that usually lead to violence. This guy called them family. But he was smart and really knew his job so they got along very quickly.

“And also there’s a female mechanic working there, a pretty gal, but she’s not the talking kind, and Force knows I’ve tried.” He sighed and stretched his arms and put his hands behind his head. They’d successfully accomplished today’s mission, and now they needed to hide hijacked vessel. A few more hours and they’d enter Nar Shadaa’s orbit, a few more hours and they’d be changing vessel’s ID signature and bringing it to the client. Another simple job done. He’d fallen into the routine of odd jobs and got used to never knowing where he is going to meet new day again. When they’ve arrived to Tien’s place, it was close to nightfall on the Nar Shadaa. But it’s hard to tell what time of the day it was because there was no sun above you head. There were only dim street lights and animated neon signs.

The workshop was desolate at this hour. There were no customers and Tien was nowhere to be seen. The only working light was above the workbench where was sitting a slumped female silhouette. They both approached her and she didn’t noticed them at first, too consumed in examining some droid part lying in front of her while sipping caffa from chipped mug.

The girl lifted her gaze from her work and the light from the lonely lamp fell on her face. She looked a lot like those Serroco refugees, always with the blaster in the hand, ready to fight for their territory, their little piece of freedom, trying to protect each other at all cost. Her locks were jet black and she had a few short braids in front of her left ear and in the back of her head, adorned with little wooden beads. Her monolid eyes stared at them, her right brow lifted in a silent question. She had an unusual eye color - usually people with black hair had brown eyes, but hers were green. But what did he know about genetics? He was just a smuggler.

“Hey, Kano, is Tien here?” asked Atton’s companion.

“Well, Gar, he’s sleeping, because it’s one AM.” She smiled weakly with a sleep-deprived gentleness in her eyes.

“And why are you up?”

“I can’t sleep”.

“You look like you’re going to pass out any minute, Kano.”

She shrugs, “Still can’t sleep.”

Hm. That’s the mechanic he was talking about, thought Rand.

“I and my friend are in need of some services from the boss of yours.” He ran his hand through his short hair and smiled tentatively. Kano got up and looked out the wide glass window behind her. She grabbed a rag from the table to wipe grease from her hands. The mechanic was wearing dark blue jumpsuit with dirty, worn-out military boots. She noticed their starship on the previously empty landing pad.

“You’ve got a new ship?” She eyed them warily.

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to wake him now.” Kano gulped leftover caffa and left.

***

Atton usually came around two or three times a week.

Sometimes he left the moment he got what he need.

Sometimes he tried to make small talk with the unfazed, steady and irreplaceable mechanic.

Usually, he started with: “Hello, Kano.”

And she would answer after a moment: “Hello, Rand.” And then she would put her face mask on to continue welding starship hull.

Sometimes he tried to ask her personal questions just to spite her. She made an impression of a person who probably was bullied in school, but never cared about it. An estranged girl that rarely let her thoughts to materialize in a form of spoken words.

“Do you live here? It seems like you’re always working.”

“I work every day.” 

“Why?”

She shrugged with a plasma torch recklessly swinging in her hand. Too cool to think about safety.

“What do you do after work?”

“I go home, take a shower, eat something, and fall asleep.”

“That’s really sad. Do you want to go out sometimes?”

“No.”

He rarely came around during the day, so most of his interactions with her happened during her night shifts in the poorly lit hangar or cluttered workshop. But he managed to catch the sight of little things about her. She had a stern gaze but a soft face. Her skin was sickly pale with a distinct green tinge. Her eyes were always looking at you with a hint of mistrust and suspicion, always watching out for sudden movements.

There was a look in her eyes that wasn’t obvious and he managed to catch a brief glimpse of it only once. But he understood it immediately. He saw them peeking through the cracks in her guise, eyes that reminded him of a wild animal, born and raised in the confines of a cage, malnourished and abused, only to suddenly become one day free and unrestrained.

“Why? Don’t you feel suffocated by loneliness?”

“There’s no need for your fake sympathy. I chose the job myself. I like it.”

Her smile was acidic. She knew he couldn’t figure out what’s she was thinking about and tried to annoy her out of sheer curiosity. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Maybe he was acting like that with every person he found remotely attractive. Or maybe acting arrogant was just a part of smuggler’s professional work ethic.

“There’s no need to punish yourself, Kano. You deserve to have fun sometimes.”

“And you know how to have fun?”

“Yeah. A couple of drinks, beautiful companions and pazaak. And maybe some other stuff.”

She sighed and continued to repair broken protocol droid. Most of his jokes had zero effect on her. But he made her smile a few times. Atton would’ve never confessed to it, but he was proud of himself for doing that. That’s how he discovered most of her smiles were crooked and bleak. The only time he observed her having a beaming smile on her face was when she talked to an old rusty homicidal T1 utility droid.

***

Kano’s work attire never changed. She seemed to own at least dozen of navy jumpsuit, all in various state of weariness. He sometimes wondered what kind of clothes she wears outside work. He tried to imagine her in a sandy midi skirt and a ink blue jacket. But the jacket always turned to be very similar to the top of her jumpsuit, so he stopped and cursed his imagination. Usually he had no problem with imagining anyone in colorful outfit. Or without one.

“How old are you, K?”

He found out she hated when someone shortened her name. But she didn’t mind different pronunciations. Like, he heard people calling her “Kay-no“, “Kah-no” or even “Kah-nu”, but she never protested or corrected anyone.

“Don’t call me K, please.”

“So?”

“I’m almost thirty. And you, scoundrel?”

“Thirty-four.”

“Woaw.”

“What? I don’t look my age?”

“Really? Yes. What is the secret? You look twenty-two, flyboy.”

“That’s an ancient Sith technique. Only a few in this part of the galaxy know it.”

“Does it involve sacrificing a bunch of Jedi to an ancient Sith lord?”

“No. Just a lot of water and positive vibes.”

“Have you ever seen a Sith lord? A real one?”

“No, of course.”

“And you?”

“I haven’t too.”

“Do they really do that stuff?”

“I don’t know. I heard some stories, but you can never know the truth now that they’re gone.”

***

One day he strolled into the shop and Kano was wearing a white T-shirt. It hang a little bit loose. And that’s how he saw her pink burn scars all over her right hand and her neck. It only happened once. He tried asking how she got these scars, but she never answered. Hadn’t even stopped looking at the droid detail she examined.

“I’m going on a vacation,” She said suddenly when handing him the parts he asked for.

“Nice. Where to?”

“Telos IV.”

“If it was a decade ago, I would’ve been jealous of you. But now? C’mon, there’s nothing to see there. The ocean’s irradiated. Your skin will come off. Or the Citadel station will explode because of that shitty Peragus fuel.”

“They’re trying to rebuild. I’ve heard it’s beautiful in the zones where the atmosphere is restored. Almost like it was before.” She was delving into the old memories, he could tell it by her eyes.

“And who told you that? A shifty travel agent?”

“A friend of mine.”

“A friend? What kind of friend?”

Now he’s surprised. And maybe a little jealous. What, he thought she doesn’t have friends besides him?

“A kind that doesn’t lie about the peaceful landscapes.”

She wasn’t there the next time he visits.

The almost blind Tien sat in her chair and a utility droid made a series of hostile beeps following him around the shop until he left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess i'm back?  
> tw suicidal thoughts in the beginning

Sometimes, Kano still wanted to die. To disappear into  a starry night, to bleed on the floor of the destroyed Republican ship, to burn in a crashed shuttle on Dxun, to be evaporated in atomic blast on Telos.  


Kano was looking at the darkness strewn with myriads of shiny specks. She tried to remember what was it like when she could hear them speak to her, reach out to her through the Force to tell what it’s like to be alive and thriving or whisper secretly about death in the outskirts of galaxy. She used to miss it. It seemed like it was some kind of privilege, to be able to feel the pulse of the galaxy. But before she went lost her connection to the Force there was a moment where she thought she was slowly descending into lunacy because she used to believe that Force was slowly leaving her. But only when she really became deaf and blind, she realized  it wasn’t leaving her - it was just so much dead planets, a deafening silence between stars, a vacuum without whispers and laughter. Usually there was a burst of screams before a planet would become silent and desolate, but Kano learned to stop them before they’d reach her mind. And they - the screams - left her alone, but the void left by them wasn’t meant to be filled with something.

The emptiness inside echoed the same black vacuum behind transparasteel, which was, in a way, soothing. 

Kano didn’t have friends anymore. They all died or wanted to think she was dead. Some probably wanted her dead.

It was a surprise that after all these years, after all the things that she’d done, Bao-Dur still wanted to see her. 

Kano wondered why Bao-Dur reached out to her. He contacted her through Tien - they both served together. He asked if she was interested in Telos restoration project. She asked him how did he know her. A head injury, y'know. She didn’t felt comfortable about being on Telos again, but he sent her pictures and invited her to see what a bunch of inspired Ithorians and one determined Zabrak can do. She didn’t believe she could help - her abilities in creating new technological solutions were too limited to solve problems that require an enormous amount of Republican credits and a will to resurrect an oasis using only radioactive ash and stubbornness.

But Bao-Dur was relentlessly asking for her help, which was unusual, because she knew he wasn’t that person. Why? Because they shared the same desire to detach themselves from others, feeling more comfortable among droids and machines, preferring to be self-sustainable and independent.

The ship starts to enter hyperspace. Stars started to leave white traces. Blue light illuminated the room.

He was the only Iridonian mechanic. She had only two images of him in her memory.

She closed her eyes and pictured Bao-Dur as she last time saw him - determined and cold, waiting for her response after he brought her the news that the new weapon was ready and inadvertently compared him to the  Bao-Dur she saw the first time they met face-to-face:a trigger happy mechanic that used to hide with her from the relentless rains of Dxun. It was almost ten years ago. Always soft-spoken and discreet, he never tried to deceive you or conceal the fact that he was always angry. It wasn’t that kind of ire that demanded to be heard or seen; it was a slowly burning fire, a desire to make someone to feel the same pain, a trapped urge to save someone that was never acted upon because there was no one left to save.

He was waiting for her on the landing pad. A kind smile appeared on his face when he saw her.

She was a little bit confused by it. 

“Nice to see you again, General.”

“You didn’t changed a bit, Bao-Dur. Nice to see you too…”

She feels shaky. The shuttle bay suddenly became too small, metal panels suddenly started to close in. But Bao-Dur seemed not to notice her anxiety.

He knew she wasn’t the talking kind. He felt chatty when he was with her.

“There’s no need to call me that, Bao-Dur.”

“I know, but I just can’t help myself, Meetra.”

“Call me Kano. It’s my childhood nickname.”

Bao-Dur’s family died when he was away, working as an engineer on a another Outer Rim planet. He used to send messages to home every week until there was no response one day. Later he heard the news.

There was no home anymore. Iridonia was destroyed. So he enlisted. People always told Bao-Dur that he had a bright future ahead: a promising engineer with an  interest in creating new types of energy shields. He forsaken that idea away when he saw his home desecrated by war. There was nothing left to protect. And he had no desire to continue his work; it was too painful to think about it. Hatred had his heart in a tight grip so it won’t fall apart. 

He just wanted to kill all mandalorians.

And he had to admit to himself, General’s arrival had woken up some memories, bad and good.

He stole a few glances at her on the way to his apartment. He tried to compare her to the image of her ten years ago, but he couldn’t find any drastic differences. Instead, he started to list small things that changed. Kano carried a small bag. She wasn’t wearing a Jedi robe. She limped a little and moved slower.  He wouldn’t thought she used to be a Jedi without knowing. 

They’d never got to become close during the war. Even after when he got her burned body out of crashed vessel and carried her to the neares. Even after she found out he was sneaking out alone in the night to hunt down mandalorians and hadn’t court martialed him. Even after Malachor. 

He shows her around station, shows her all his favourite places, which are: a droid shop and a small cantina with a droid bartender. And then he shows her his apartment which was small and almost empty besides various parts and holo-schemes. She was quiet as he thought a Jedi to be. Strangely and ironically enough, it was the first time he saw her up close when she wasn’t actively dying. It felt weird, he could reach out to touch her to see if she was real. But he would not, of course. As far as he knew, real Meetra Surik would rip your hands off if you ever dare to touch her without permission. But nowadays she seems smaller, she lost her presence that would always distinguish her from others when she entered the room.

“Can you hear me, General?” He thought when he stood behind her. No answer.

He couldn’t see her face.

“You haven’t changed too.” She put a piece of energy shield back on the workbench.

“Do you remember war, Bao-Dur?”

“Yes, General. And you?”

“Not entirely. Got a little bit brain-damaged, doc said. Sometimes I get lost in the memories.”

“I’d rather not talk about it. Those memories are better left buried.”

“I don’t remember knowing you, Bao-Dur. You seem only vaguely familiar, that’s all. I’m sorry.”

But he remembered her well.

He saw her crawling on the deck to the cracked observation window screaming in pain. Her cries were strangely abrupt, harsh to hear, because she screamed like a...  girl. She was always a composed little soldier. Quiet voice. A nineteen old Padawan with a bright blue lightsaber. A deadly little escapologist.

Other soldiers told that her age didn’t matter; most of the Jedi are capable to kill before they learn their first words. But in that scream was something very vulnerable, a nerve being electrified. The worst thing was that nobody knew what was happening. The battle was almost over. The captain’s deck was silent for a bit besides reportings of  Mandalorian and Republican ships being ripped to shreds. And then the planet started to slowly pull their ship to the surface. Sirens started to cry, people ran to the escape pods. But she stayed. Then there was an explosion.

Next moment - he was on the floor, trapped under metal debris. Kano was near him, lying in a pool of dark blood. He tried to count seconds in hope that she would heal herself. But she didn’t. Her blue robe was on fire. He couldn’t look away, he was trapped. There was an another explosion that pushed her body to him. Her head rolled to the side. Bao-Dur was face to face with Kano. Her irises were big and dark and and her chest didn’t move. The fire started to spread all over her body. 

He wanted to think that she could hear him, that she can read his thoughts, like she did once, that she could understand him saying old prayers in Zabraki, the ones he learned as a little boy from his mother.

He can’t remember what happened after. When he woke up, his arm was gone.

And Kano was nowhere to be found. 

She wasn’t dead, she wasn’t with Revan and she wasn’t one of those who died after refusing to continue crusade against the Republic.

***

She appeared in the shop two weeks later. She was wearing the same jumpsuit, but her skin seemed tanned. 

“How was your little trip to Telos?”

“It was alright.”

“Brought any souvenirs?”

She shook her head.

“So?” He drawled and leaned on her workbench.

“So” what?”

“How was the ocean?”

She answered with a little pause, it was nice. And she added that she spent a few days at the beach in the Restoration zone.

“How was your friend? Was he glad to see you?”

“Kind of, I guess.”

So it’s a he then.

“Why? You’re not sure?”

The chatting today felt awkward than usual. Kano seemed distant, sometimes her eyes wandered away to the shuttle bay behind the window. The sound of  her tinkering with the details wasn’t constant as usual. 

“Do you need help with that?” He pulled his trusty Republican army knife out of the belt holster. Kano was looking for the scissors to cut off a useless wire in some piece of junk she was salvaging. Atton didn’t wait for answer and quickly cut it off. Kano was looking at the blade with an unusual interest.

“Where did you get that knife?” Her tone was dry.

“I got it from a war veteran. Want to have a look?”

“No.”

“Bad memories?” He tried prying further, but, as always, she ignored him.

“No. ”

“It’s a good knife. A sharp blade and a sturdy handle. A loyal instrument of mine for many years.”

“It’s a Republican knife.”

“So?”

Atton really liked that knife. It served him well many years and many memories were connected to it.  He won the knife in a pazaak game. It happened in the days before the Battle of Malachor V. He used to smuggle booze during his army days and sometimes he traded it for extra rations. The first thing he did using his new knife was gutting a standard Republican ration pack. 

The second thing he did was stabbing a Jedi with it. 

He didn’t mean to. And it never happened again, because it was too risky. It was on Malachor, a few days after the planet was destroyed. A Jedi that went mad after the final battle. 

“You've been in the army, right?”

“Do I look like I was in the army?” You don’t want the answer, mechanic girl.

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”

“What do you think?”

“I think you grew up in the Republican space.”

“Yes. What else?”

“You only use Peragian fuel. You probably have business with miners.”

“That’s a good guess, Kano.” He always said Kay-no.  


“You trade  weapons, booze and spice. And sometimes, when money’s good, you’re a bounty-hunter and a ship hijacker.”

“You know me very well, Kano, but I can’t tell the same about you.”

“Take a guess.”

“You tend to keep distance from Serocco refugees, despite them practically thinking you’re one of them. There’s no chance you willingly chose to come to Nar Shadaa. Judging by your face expression when you saw my knife, you were displaced and abandoned here by the Republic. My guess is that you were born there, but grew up on Outer Rim planet. Your left half of the body is burned. You probably hate the Mandalorians, don’t you?”

“I don’t.” She slightly shook her head.

“Why?” He looked at the her scars peeking out of the rolled up sleeve of her jumpsuit.  She caught his gaze and slowly covered it back.

“The war’s over.”

“So it was the Sith who did it?”

She didn’t bat an eye. Her response was immediate. Almost rehearsed.

“We don’t talk about it here.” She said calmly without any annoyance or anger in her voice. But she sounded tired. 

It was hard for Atton to decipher her emotions through her mimic. Her face seemed to be impassive. She continued to assemble droid behavioral unit with a serious, focused gaze. It was kind of cute. After a short silence she suddenly resumed the conversation.

“Yes, I grew up on Outer Rim. But I came to Nar Shadaa because I like this garbage planet. I like the noise, the chaos and heartless people that live here, and that sometimes I get to explore stolen luxurious ships that smugglers bring here.” 

“It only happened twice.”

“I said ‘smugglers’. I’m sorry, but you’re not the only one.”

“I seriously doubt that your little shop sees more than five customers in a week.”

“Six.”

“Okay, six”. She smiled at him. It was a nice, genuine smile.

She hadn’t said anything. It seemed that his words struck something in her. She glanced at the empty landing pad behind the window.

Actually, he found her composed demeanor and annoyance at his pep talk somewhat calming and entertaining. But he was loitering in the shop longer than needed. Gar’d been waiting for him. 

He hopped into the freighter and then they took off. He sat next to the pilot.

Gar was twenty-two. When Mandalorian Wars started, he was a boy. His family fled from Serroco and got stuck on the Nar Shadaa. He said he never went back home, his last memories of it being raging storms, rare blue sky, and mysterious Stereb cities.

It seemed like Gar was more complacent than usual.

His face was lit up as if he won a prize in a swoop race. Or stole an expensive ship.

Atton really didn’t like this grin.

“What’s up?”

“There’s a huge bounty. Take a look.” He handed him a datapad.

He didn’t lie. It was an enormous bounty. And there was only a short sentence describing a target.

 

_ Wanted: Jedi or a Sith, alive and healthy. No permanent injuries or corpses. _


End file.
